A Scandal With Mad Men
by Ellesbells10
Summary: When The Doctor and Amy accidentally gatecrash a party at 221B Baker Street they quickly find themselves helping out Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Molly Hooper, trying to find a dark and demonic thief who's making life a living hell for the three, only what they don't know is that the thief is hiding much closer than they think.
1. Chapter 1 - The Encounter

**Chapter One - The Encounter.**  
*******_The control room of the TARDIS_***

"Come along Pond." The Doctor shouts, bounding over to the TARDIS console, twisting and pushing random dials. "We've got places to be and people to see!"  
I roll my eyes and plonk myself on the spinny chair, spinning myself from side to side, as I watch him whirl around in a frenzy. "Really Doctor, this better not be another one of your bowling matches with Virginia Woolf." I say, recalling my last encounter with her, that didn't go down all that well. "I swear if I have to sit through another one of those, I'll hit her over the head with her own bowling ball."  
The Doctor twists around, his long coat swishing around his legs as he does, "No, we're not scheduled another one of those until …" He looks up at the screen above his head, displaying the time, date and place we're currently in. "Five years ago."  
Thank god for that, I think to myself, getting up and leaning on the console beside him. "Who are we going to see then?"  
His lips start to curl up at the corners and he pokes my nose. "Prepare to be impressed, Pond. Prepare to be really impressed."  
I laugh, uncontrollably. "What like last time, when we landed in the middle of the Atlantic …again." His eyes narrow slightly at my teasing. "Come on then, who are we going to see?"  
He taps his nose secretively, looking me up and down. "You'll find out soon enough, but you can't wear that though."  
I look down at my outfit of a shirt and a mini skirt. "What's wrong with it?" I ask defensively, remembering Rory would often question the lengths of my skirts too. "It's not that short!"  
"If you say so, but still, where we're going you can't be seen wearing anything like that. Have a look in the chest." He says, fixing his bow tie and pointing at the large wooden treasure chest at my feet.

I lift the lid and start pushing random pieces of fabric over the fez that I hid in there last week, if he sees it I'll never be able to get it back off his head and I don't think he needs to look any more ridiculous than he already does. I start rummaging and pulling out impeccably long scarves, leather jackets and coats you'd picture clowns wearing, at a loss for what exactly it is I'm looking for.  
"If you're not going to tell me who we're going to see at least tell me where and when."  
"London, Amy. _Victorian_ London." His eyes spark open wide with excitement as he says it. "The time when everything changed."  
"Ooh, where all the men wore dashing suits!"  
"I wear dashing suits!" He exclaims, straightening his bow tie and gesturing to his attire of a tweed jacket, light pinkish - red shirt and dark trousers held up by red braces that sit on his shoulders.

"If you say so Doctor." I retort playfully, and turn my attention back to the box. It's like an adults version of a dressing up box in here, it reminds me of dressing Rory up as the Doctor when we were kids.

"Ah ha!" I gasp, my fingers landing on a pretty glass-bottle green colored lace corset with lashings and lashings of silk and net. I yank it out the box and slam the lid quick, hoping he never spied the fez, and hold it up to myself. Its so pretty and it's so … short for a Victorian dress. God only knows how he accumulated it, probably one of his past friends.

I dash off and quickly pull the dress on in the TARDIS wardrobe, feeling like I've just stepped out of an episode of Downton Abbey and give a little twirl, the lace spinning out in all directions. It's so pretty, and goes so well with my biker boots.  
I turn and bound down the stairs "'Ello, mate!" I say, in my best cockney accent, bouncing back up onto the console platform and grabbing onto the bar, ready to be jolted around as his hand lingers on the lever.  
He looks at me blankly for a moment, as if I've said something I shouldn't have. "What?"  
He shakes his head, a deep gorge of a crease forming in his skin that's both youthful and ancient. "Amelia Pond, the girl who doesn't make sense, you always find a way to surprise me."  
"What on earth are you going on about?"  
He discards that question completely as if I hadn't said anything at all and looks up at the console. "Hang on …" He yells, yanking the lever, firing up the WHOOSHING noises that sound like wind. We start to sway, one way then the other, gently at first but as the noises pick up speed so do we. I'm thrown like a rag doll, left then right, then back and forth and round and round an round again. I try to keep my grip on the bar but my hand slips and I'm thrown into the console and bash my hip on something hard, before I'm thrown back to my previous place on the bar. I wrap my arms around it tightly, which is about as helpful as a chocolate teapot, because no sooner do I get my grip, we stop dead with a bang. Typical.

Dragging myself up to a standing position, I give my hip a rub from where I bashed it, imagining that it's going to leave a bruise. I wonder what I bashed it on, probably a tap or the ketchup dispenser or some random thing that's useless.  
The Doctor adjusts his bow tie again, and shoves his floppy hair back from his face, before giving his gangly limbs a shake and bounding over to the door like a Labrador. He clamps his hands on the handle. "Brace yourself, welcome to … " The doors fly open with crash and he drags me over the TARDIS threshold. "Victorian -"  
He breaks off as we look around.

We're not in London. We're not even in the Victorian times. Yet again we're not where we're supposed to be. Instead of being surrounded by horse and carts, cobbled streets and women with big bustles and men in top hats, we're in a place that couldn't be more different.

We're in the middle of a big, slightly dingy room, with brown patterned walls with a random yellow smiley face sprayed on it. The main wall is covered in tiny holes, and there's a skull sitting on the mantle piece beside the two ancient armchairs and small sofa that's occupied by four people. Each person's eyes are wide, in disbelief as they attempt to take in what's just happened and why there are two people, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, standing in their living room after materializing in a big blue box from thin air.  
"Something tells me this isn't Victorian London." I mutter, jabbing The Doctor with my elbow.

I look at the people sitting, staring at us with eyes as wide as buttons. Alarm bells start to ring inside my head as my eyes land on one person. Something in my head screams like a siren, as I look him over, he looks familiar but I don't know why. My eyes fixate on him, taking in every detail of him, scouring my mind trying to find a match or a memory of this man. Maybe he looks like someone I know, I conclude.  
He's so gaunt, so long, so pale, with cheekbones like razors and hair so dark and curly. Who on earth could he look like? And why do I feel like I know him?


	2. Chapter 2 - The Mad Man with a Blue Box

**_Chapter two - The Mad Man With a Blue Box_****. **  
***221B Baker Street - London***

"Molly … Molly… Moll!" John shouts, clicking his fingers in front of my face, dragging my attention, unwillingly, from the magical blue box and it's odd-looking occupants. My mind spins with questions, the main one being how did two people in a blue box materialize.  
"Molly, are you ok?" John asks, steadying my hand holding the glass of wine, before it spills.  
I nod once again, letting my eyes wander back to the pair standing beside the huge royal blue telephone box. How did it get there, is it magic?  
I look at the man, long and gangly, with a bow tie, he reminds me of a wacky children's entertainer, bounding around the room, looking all around. Maybe that's what this is, a magic trick. Maybe the redheaded girl is his assistant, but why the Victorian outfit and why does she look so shocked? Shouldn't she know what's going on and be all showy and hostess like about it. I mean, she looks like a show girl; with the long red locks, even longer legs and striking beauty, but I don't understand the concept of the outfit, nor his for that matter.

She stands there motionless, her eyes dilated wide and looks almost entranced by something beside me, or rather someone. I look to Sherlock, who's sat so close to me I can smell the lavender scented washing powder on his suit. He's staring at her, with the same vacant expression, only there's a curl to his pale melon colored lips.  
"Amelia?" Slips from his mouth, his eyes still transfixed on hers. "Amelia Pond!"  
Her face breaks into the biggest smile I've ever seen, flashing a set of perfect white teeth and she lets out a little laugh. "Oh my god," She squeals in a strong Scottish accent. "Sherlock Holmes!"  
"What, you two know each other?" The strange man asks, pointing from Sherlock, to the girl and back again, as Sherlock jumps up, knocking my arm and the wine all over me and my new white dress.  
I jump in shock, as the coldness hits my skin, but I quickly snap my attention back to Sherlock.

I try and remember him ever mentioning anyone called 'Amelia' in the five years I've known him, but my mind draws a blank. Amelia Pond … it's such a lovely name, kind of fairy tale like, and it suits her so well, she looks so pretty.  
I swallow hard as Sherlock's arms snap around the fairy tale girl, sending streams of red hair all over the place as he squeezes her against his thin frame and spins her around once in his embrace. Her lips stretch from ear to ear as she squeezes her eyes shut and clings tightly to him.

There's something deep inside me that falls apart as I watch him with her. He looks _so_ happy. It's the first time I've ever seen him have any form of emotional or physical contact with anyone, apart from Mrs Hudson, who he occasionally gives a sly peck on the cheek.  
I bite my lips together, feeling a sharp twinge in my stomach and my throat develop a huge lump. To distract myself, I look at the pink stain from the wine that is forming on my dress, my heart slowly sinking. I only bought this dress because I thought maybe, just once, maybe Sherlock would see me as a person, rather than just that girl who works at the hospital who lets him use her equipment. And now my dress is completely ruined.

"Amy," The strange mad looking man calls, stepping so close to Sherlock and the girl. "Do you mind enlightening me, who exactly are you hugging?"  
"Yeah, Sherlock." John also chips in. "Who are they?" He gestures to the mad man and the girl, as if that's the most important question.  
Am I the only one who's slightly more concerned about how they ended up here in the first place?  
The man jumps and stands in front of John, Mrs Hudson and me, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "This is Amy, Amelia Pond," He gestures to the tall girl still in Sherlock's arms, my eyes fixing on them again and my heart hammering inside me a little harder. "And I'm The Doctor." He says proudly, throwing his hands behind his back leaning forwards on his feet, then backwards again as if expecting us to respond in some way.  
"Doctor?" Mrs Hudson asks, producing a small bottle of whisky from her dress pocket and pouring a little into her cup of tea. I guess she needs that after seeing a mad man and a woman jump out of a magic police box. "Doctor who?"  
He beams even brighter than before. "Just The Doctor."

That's a funny name I think to myself, picking up the cloth on the table and dabbing it on my dress, looking at Sherlock and Amy through my eyelashes. He let's go of her as I look up, and they look each other over a few times, big smiles still pasted to their faces.  
He never smiles at anyone like that. Ever.  
"Pond," The Doctor spins around, his coat whirling around his legs, putting an arm around Amy's shoulders and standing in front of Sherlock. "Who's this then?"  
She shakes her head a little, turning to face The Doctor. "A friend, a very old friend." She almost whispers.  
"As old as me?" He says with a laugh, as if it's an inside joke, then turns back to us. "No one could be as old as me."  
I frown. He only looks about thirty years old, maximum, what's he going on about?  
"No." Amy giggles. "I met him at the psychiatrists, because of you." She says the last half of that sentence a little spitefully.

I never knew Sherlock had seen a psychiatrist. He never said, then again, I don't suppose it's a topic you're likely to bring up of your own accord.

"Yeah, and you are?" Sherlock questions, looking over The Doctor, with that same piercing glare he always gives when he meets new people. "Actually no, let me guess." He pauses and looks over the man for a second.  
John gives a sigh and rolls his eyes, sitting back down beside me. "Here we go again, the showing off."  
I smile. He's always done this thing, every time he meets someone new. He tells them their own life story, just by looking at them. It's amazing. Although, he's never done it with me. I don't even think he knows my last name. I don't suppose I count. The only reason I came here today was because John invited me, Sherlock barely even looks at me, even when he comes the hospital to use my things, he barely makes conversation.

"Ah," He gasps, pressing his fingers together and triumphantly grinning. "You're the imaginary friend. You met her when she was little, and left her. You said you'd come back but you got the timing wrong. That's where I come in. But out of duty you came back a few weeks ago, in our time anyway. You're trying to make it up to her, for leaving that little girl alone in the dark. But you're also trying to compensate for your own mistakes, by taking people away with you. You try to show them things they wouldn't even dream of, just so you don't feel empty because you've seen it all before. You make them see things, just so you feel alive and not just dead inside. " There's a long pause as a sharp is glare between the two men is exchanged. "You're lonely …" he trails off.

The room is silent. No one quite knowing what to say. Until Mrs Hudson chips in. "Tea anyone?"  
"Tea!" The Doctor cries, ignoring everything Sherlock has just said and suddenly changing the deep and heavy atmosphere. "Ooh I love tea! Tea and biscuits. No!" He gasps contradicting himself. "Tea and Jammie Dodgers!" He sounds like a hyperactive child.  
Mrs Hudson laughs, getting to her feet. "I'm the landlady, dear, not a confectionery goddess, but I'll see what I can do." She vanishes out of the door and down the stairs into the darkness.  
"Landlady ay!" The Doctor says with a cheeky tone and a wink Sherlock, after she's no longer in earshot. "Nice lady you've got there Shirley, but might I inquire as to why you've got your landlady in your flat?"

I sit there, looking agog. Not knowing what to say or how to react. Everyone seems to just be ignoring the fact that there's a magical blue box plonked in the middle of the living room. A box that has just appeared out of thin air, with a mad man and one of Sherlock's old friends inside. I am the only one who can't get past that? Everyone seems so blasé about it. And Sherlock's acting so weird. Maybe it's just me, maybe I'm over thinking.  
Yes, it's probably that.

John stands and begins explaining the situation. "Well, it's my birthday, and as I'm Sherlock's flatmate we're celebrating."  
"Ooh, a birthday! I love a good old birthday. And you are?" The Doctor asks looking straight at me.  
For a second I completely lose the power of speech, and I sit there with my mouth hanging open like a fish, with four pairs of eyes on me. "Ermm … Molly." I say eventually, almost forgetting my own name. "Sherlock's girlfriend." No sooner do those words leave my mouth, my blood boils beneath my skin and my cheeks flush a dark shade of beetroot.  
Why did I say that? Why?  
"I mean …" My mouth gapes as I try to correct myself and both John's and Sherlock's eyes burn into my skin. "I mean … I'm …" I stammer. "I'm Sherlock's friend … who's … who's a girl." I give a nervous laugh and push a strand of hair behind my ear, letting my eyes drop to the floor as I hold my head in shame and embarrassment.  
God knows what they think of me.

"Anyway," John says, changing the subject, thank god. I take a big gulp of the wine that's left in my glass, half hoping that it will cool my burning face.  
"You're welcome to stay for cake, and I'd love to hear all about you and Sherlock. We didn't think he had any friends." John continues.  
Amy turns to the Doctor, her glossy hair whipping around as she jerks her head. "Oh, go on Doctor." she pleads. "Go on, we've got a time machine, I'm sure we wont be late for your meeting with whoever it is, in Victorian London."  
_Time Machine and Victorian London?_ Am I hearing this right?  
I take another gulp of wine.  
The Doctor plonks himself on the sofa beside me, glancing at his watch. "Yeah, why not what's the worst that could happen?"


End file.
